


not so far away

by cecropia



Series: Lapse [2]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cynthia Murphy Tries, Homophobic Language, Larry Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen) Being an Asshole, M/M, Murphy Sibling Bonding, Other, Pining, Swearing, duh - Freeform, general self-destructive thoughts bc connor, takes place right before chapter 7 in Lapse, they're getting better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 00:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecropia/pseuds/cecropia
Summary: Takes place right before chapter 7 in Lapse.'When their eyes meet again she reminds him of his little sister, the one that would run into his room when it was thundering and ask to paint his nails and actually volunteer to be around him. Who’d stick up for him when things started to get bad until he pushed her away so much that she didn’t know who he was anymore.'





	not so far away

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiii this is a Lapse side-fic because i had this scene in my mind and i couldn't get rid of it so here u go!!!  
> also shoutout to YellowMustard for being the BEST and inspiring me to push through my writer's block! go read her stuff seriously  
> enjoy my loves <3
> 
> come talk to me! c-e-c-r-o-p-i-a on tumblr :-)  
> 

KIt’s not even 7:15 yet and Connor’s already searching for a plan of escape. 

If he just gets the hell up and leaves like he sometimes does, he’s not sure how Larry will react. Because he came home already grumpy instead of attempting to put on his satisfied-with-life mask like he usually does, and when Connor was coming down the stairs he heard Cynthia mention his name before dinner had even _started_ and that’s never a good sign, and Zoe’s been stabbing the green beans onto her fork rather aggressively for the last five minutes and so all of this doesn’t exactly bode well for Connor. 

So that plan is out. 

He could always ask Evan to call him or something. Say he’s in trouble and that he needs Connor to come pick him up. But he doesn’t want to do that to Evan, especially considering how much Evan has had to comfort him in the past. Connor doesn’t want to put him through anything like that again, because last time... 

Fucking _embarrassing_. Shit. 

So he pushes that thought from his mind and sighs a little too loudly, just trying to focus on the next time he’ll be able to text Evan, earning a pointed look from Cynthia and a sharp intake of angry breath from Larry. It’s been silent this entire time, so silent that literally all that’s audible is the horrid scraping of forks and the occasional gulp of water, and it’s making Connor’s skin crawl. And he’s pretty sure that if Larry lets out just _one more_ frustrated sigh after staring at Connor for what feels like an hour he’s going to have a complete meltdown. 

And then Larry clears his throat again and Connor feels himself start to shake, feels the anger bubbling in his chest and he looks down and his knuckles are white where he’s gripping his fork. He breathes out a slow, relatively quiet breath and promises himself that after this, he can sneak out and go see Evan. He just has to get through this _one_ dinner, just this one, and all he needs to do is keep himself together long enough to make it through without trouble. For Evan. To make him proud. 

“You’re awfully non-argumentative tonight, Connor. It’s a nice change of pace.”

_Fuck_ Evan. 

Connor’s sticking up for himself this time, he’s gonna give Larry a taste of his own goddamn _medicine—_

“ _Larry_ ,” Cynthia chastises, giving him a dark look. It kind of feels like she’s referring to a previous conversation they’d had about Connor, which feels… weird. Larry rolls his eyes at her just like Connor does, and it pisses him off because he’s rolling his fucking eyes at someone standing up for him for once, and also, Connor never wants to resemble his father. Ever. The thought makes his blood boil. 

No, _no_. Connor can do this. He can. He just needs to eat his food, look down, and give Larry the opposite of what he wants. A reaction. 

One of those things is out, though, because Connor’s suddenly lost his appetite. He feels queasy and mirrors Zoe’s uncomfortable actions, pushing his green beans around on the plate. 

He wishes, more than anything, that he could pull his phone out and text Evan right now. 

Larry huffs indignantly. “Alright, then.” And then his voice softens just a touch, not enough for anyone who isn’t Connor to notice. He does, of course. It’s Larry’s talking-to-the-better-sibling voice. He knows that voice by heart, can recognize it in an instant because it’s the only time Larry’s words aren’t directed at him. 

“Zoe,” He calls across the table, getting her uninterested attention before continuing. “How was school?”

Zoe shrugs, looking down and slumping over in her chair. “‘S alright.”

And it feels like the whole room goes quieter than it had before; no fork scraping, no chewing, no clinking of too-expensive and poorly decorated drinking glasses— silence. Real, actual silence. 

Connor knows why. It’s something _he_ would say. 

“Um, Zo… is… is everything alright, sweetheart?” Cynthia asks, her voice way too chipper and dripping with caution, and Connor can’t help but grit his teeth because if _he_ had responded that way he’d be getting chastised by her right about now. About how he should give a _real_ answer. 

“I’m fine,” Zoe answers shortly, attempting to add a little more animation in her voice. She doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, so she’s obviously not fine. Connor has a fleeting thought about what he’d do to the person that made her feel like this. 

Maybe it was fucking _Kleinman_. Connor bites hard into the side of his cheek, balling his hands into fists below the table. 

Larry turns his attention back to the lesser sibling. “Should I even bother asking you that question, Connor?” He raises his eyebrows like a challenge, smirking a little at Connor because he’s a pro when it comes to knowing just how to push Connor’s buttons. 

The question _why ask if you don’t care_ pops into his mind and he lets his eyes close for a second, picking up his fork again and shoving a giant mouthful of gluten-free lasagna into his mouth so he doesn’t make the mistake of opening it. Cynthia sighs. 

“So. Neither of my children are interested in chatting tonight, then?” Larry surveys the table, the most indignant look on his face. It’s not a good look on him. It shows his age, the wrinkles in his forehead from years of angry faces and the bags under his eyes that Connor so gratefully inherited. 

Suddenly Cynthia and Connor make eye contact, and he almost gives in and answers at the look in her eyes. She pulls her eyebrows together in concern and then raises them as if she’s silently begging him to say something, and he’s sure that he should probably answer and that it’ll probably go easier and he’ll get to Evan quicker if he just gives his father something to work with, but he just doesn’t trust his mouth. 

“Alright, fine. I guess I’ll just have to get right to the point.” Larry clears his throat, straightens his tie, turns his attention to Zoe again. “Did Connor do something to upset you, Zoe?”

Connor slams his fork down against the table. 

“ _Larry_ . That’s _enough_.”

“It’s just a question, Cynthia. I want to hear what she has to say.”

Zoe blinks in confusion. “I didn’t even _say_ anything about Connor, what—“

“I just figured that since he’s being so disrespectful tonight, he might have done something else to make you upset.”

“I _said_ I’m _fine—_ “

“I’m literally right the fuck here,” Connor interjects, throwing his hands in the air. All intentions of keeping the peace leave right out the open kitchen window. 

“Language,” Cynthia snaps. 

“Why the _fuck_ should I watch my language when he’s—“

“You will not speak to your mother in that way, Connor.”

“Funny that you think I directed that word at her, _Larry_.”

Larry sets his jaw in place, taking a breath in through his nose. “You keep up this attitude of yours and you’ll have a lot of trouble later on, young man.”

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten me, Larry.” Connor raises his eyebrows, resting his head on his hands and leaning forward in mock interest. 

“Connor, please— it’s really not worth—“ 

Cynthia’s cut off. 

“Do you really think you’ll go anywhere in life talking to adults like that? People in power? For your information, in the _real_ world—“

“To be fair, Larry, your shitty-ass attitude got you somewhere, didn’t it? You’re a _big-shot lawyer_ with an unhappy life and _tons_ of money, I really _long_ to be like _you,_ of all people—“

Larry looks like he’s going to spontaneously combust. Connor smirks at him. “That’s _enough_ , Connor Lawrence—“

“Oh, pulling out the middle name, are we? I’m sure _scared_ now, Larold—“

“Connor!” Cynthia almost shouts, eyes as wide as saucers, a horrified look on her face. Zoe mutters something under her breath, pushing her chair back from the table and storming up the stairs. Connor doesn’t even register her door slamming. 

“Apologize to your father. _Now_ ,” Cynthia practically growls at him, her real tone of voice revealing itself earlier in the night than usual. 

“Why the hell should I? He was sitting there just fucking _waiting_ for me to react like this—“

“As if I _want_ you to disrespect me, Connor,” Larry huffs. 

“Don’t you _dare_ try and say you weren’t just waiting for me to finally break so you could treat me like shit again only because you fucking _hate_ yourself and you had another shitty day and the only way for you to feel better anymore is to take it out on your miserable family—“

“See?” Larry throws his arms in the air, slamming his fists on the table. Across from him, his mother jumps. Anger flares red-hot in Connor’s belly. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Cynthia. He doesn’t care! If we would have forced him to go outside more or to join a sport like I wanted him to, maybe he wouldn’t—“

“Maybe I wouldn’t _what_ ?” _Say it._

Cynthia suddenly pushes back from the table, standing up with her hands in fists at her sides. “Just because Connor wasn’t in _sports_ doesn’t mean he’s any less than you, _Larry_.”

_I’m right here. Is this even about me anymore?_

“Well! Maybe if you hadn’t babied him so much he wouldn’t be painting his goddamn nails and slamming doors—“

_Yep, this is definitely still about me_. 

“Maybe— I don’t know, maybe he’d have a _girlfriend_ instead of a fucking drug dealer—“

Thinking back, Connor’s never seen his mother so angry. And his mother’s been angry about a lot of things, especially lately, but this time he can see the tendons in her neck and her jaw is clenched so tight it’s trembling, and he’s reminded a lot of himself in this moment. 

“That is _not_ relevant, Larry.”

Connor wants to leave. He’s done being angry. It’s their fight now, and he feels weird even being present for this— Evan wouldn’t want him here, listening to his parents shit on him, and truthfully, Connor doesn’t want to hear it either. It just confirms everything bad he’s ever thought about himself. 

He should leave. 

He prepares himself for Larry’s booming voice telling him to sit back down, prepares himself for the deafening empty silence when he’ll enter his room, but he barely makes it out of the chair. 

“Maybe if you would’ve let me give him the tough love he _needed_ , he wouldn’t constantly be with that _Evan Hansen_ doing god knows what, god knows where— maybe he wouldn’t be such a—“

“Lawrence Murphy, don’t you _dare—_ “ Cynthia’s voice is pure fire, ragged with the attempt to keep her voice even. 

“—goddamn _pansy_!”

After that one, everyone needs a moment to process. Cynthia is just standing there, eyes wide and shaking with anger from head to toe. Larry’s mouth is hanging open and he’s breathing harder than usual, avoiding Cynthia’s eyes and gripping the edge of the table. 

And Connor doesn’t know why, but he’s so angry that his mood is coming across as unbothered. Uninterested. He slowly pushes himself back from the table, standing up and locking eyes with Larry when the squeak of Connor’s chair in the quiet room catches his attention. 

“Just call me a faggot like you’ve been dying to for the past five years, Larry. We both know that’s what you _really_ meant to say.”

The words come out more venomous than Connor had expected, and honestly, he’s a little proud of himself. 

Larry puffs up his chest, opens his mouth—

“Connor, go upstairs,” Cynthia says. It’s not a question, it’s not a request. It’s a command. 

“What did I—“

“ _Go_.”

Larry stands up, rounds the table and heads right for Connor. He points an angry finger straight at Connor, eyes trained on Cynthia. “You’re _seriously_ letting him—“

“Connor! _Now_.” 

She gently pushes him toward the stairs by the shoulder, immediately spinning on her heels to start talking to Larry in a low, quiet, controlled manner. She’s never been the one to yell. 

He feels like a ghost as he trails up the stairs into his devastatingly doorless bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed like the shell of a person. He’s not sure how long he sits there, just staring at the floor, but pretty soon he’s got his earbuds in and he’s laying flat on his back, eyes closed and his music at full-blast to drown out anything that might be happening downstairs. 

Connor debates texting Evan, telling him everything that just happened and the way just thinking about it is making him want to scratch his skin off but at the same time he doesn’t feel a goddamn _thing_ and then he thinks Evan might think he’s weird or not understand and Connor would have to explain the way that Larry’s words crawl under his skin and nest there and then he’d have to explain how hearing his dad mention Evan’s name in a negative manner made him want to— fucking punch his own father square in the face. 

But that would lead to Connor accidentally fucking kissing him or something because he actually has no self-control around boys he likes, and—

He likes Evan. Which is new. And weird. 

And it kind of makes Connor hate himself a little bit, but whatever. 

Maybe Connor should tell him. Just rip off the bandaid and admit it all. 

But, like… there’s no way Evan likes him. So. No. 

He feels a tap on his shoulder, and he blinks open his eyes to see his sister hesitating a couple of feet away from him. She says something he can’t hear.

“What?” He asks as he removes an earbud, and he can tell that it comes out harsher than intended because Zoe flinches a little bit, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Zoe says softly, looking up through her eyelashes to observe Connor’s room. She hasn’t been here in a while, Connor thinks, even though she could come in at any time, really.

“It’s… fine,” Connor responds tentatively. He sits up on the bed, and it’s sort of automatic when he scooches to the end to give her some room and tosses his earbuds to the side. This is a thing she used to do when they were younger, stand hesitating at his doorway until he moved over so she could just sit there and exist with him while their parents fought a floor down. 

Zoe breathes out through her nose and eyes him for a moment before sitting softly on the edge of the bed. She’s not looking at him, her arms still crossed over her chest. 

“I, um… I heard what dad said about you.”

Right. Connor can still hear them whispering downstairs.

“... and?” Connor asks her, because he’s an asshole, wrapping his arms around his knees because he really, really doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. And he’s really not used to talking to his sister at all, let alone in a civil manner.

She sighs in frustration, turning to him and rolling her eyes. “Dad… he’s old.”

“Clearly.”

That makes Zoe smile just a bit. “And he’s a dumbass. He doesn’t know anything.”

Zoe makes eye contact with him and for the first time, Connor realizes how sad her eyes look. They’ve both got these downturned eyes that always look upset or sad and honestly, it’s pretty fitting considering the hell they have to go through together. 

Together. Huh. The word feels foreign when it comes to the two of them.

He feels a sudden rush of affection toward his sister, looking away so he doesn’t reveal too much of it. 

“Yeah. I know.”

He hears Zoe sigh again. “You’re not… I dunno, like… being… the way that you are doesn’t make you—”

“Zo,” Connor interrupts her, “You don’t have to… play the sympathy card, or whatever. It’s fine.”

He doesn’t even have to look at her to know she’s frowning. 

“Can you actually ever shut up for more than five minutes?”

He snaps his head to look at her, brow furrowed, but then she’s smiling at him just a little and some of the anger drains out. 

“Connor, I’m—” Zoe stops, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth and looking away. She scoots a little closer to him, turning so she’s got one leg hanging off the bed and the other folded underneath her. “We’re not that… different.”

Connor blinks at her. “The parents would disagree. They seem to think you’re the perfect one and I’m the fuck-up.”

Zoe purses her lips. “I’m going to ignore that because you’ve been more decent with me lately and I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, okay?” She huffs out another frustrated breath, pushing back her hair and taking hold of a strand to twirl around her finger. Something she does when she’s anxious. “Connor, I’m— I don’t know how to even—” She groans. 

“Fucking spit it out,” Connor demands. 

“I’m— not straight, alright? God.” Zoe practically yells, immediately turning away and crossing her arms again. She looks like she’s holding her breath. 

And. That makes sense. 

“Oh,” Connor says lightly, meeting Zoe’s eyes that are so, so guarded and almost angry. “Cool.”

As she lets out a breath her shoulders relax and she looks around the room a little more, shifting back to face Connor and going back to playing with her hair. 

“I didn’t— like, they never really… mentioned. Anything about your… sexuality. So I just always assumed they were cool with it, but.” Zoe stops, chewing on her lip again. She won’t look at him. “What dad said…”

“Yeah,” Connor agrees bitterly, crossing his legs and resting his head in his hands. 

“He doesn’t get it, you know? He’s… not with the times.” 

“Yep.”

“I’ve never… told. Anyone. I didn’t even really… I didn’t know until, like, really recently?” She phrases it like a question, folding in on herself as she speaks. “And you’ve sort of… always known, right?”

When their eyes meet again she reminds him of his little sister, the one that would run into his room when it was thundering and ask to paint his nails and actually volunteer to be around him. Who’d stick up for him when things started to get bad until he pushed her away so much that she didn’t know who he was anymore. 

“Yeah,” Connor says quietly, eyes burning. He blinks and shakes his head. “Um… pretty much, yeah. Um. But that doesn’t… make… like, it doesn’t make you... invalid or anything.”

Zoe seems to relax a little more, her eyes shiny and sad. She nods. “Yeah.”

Connor nods back. 

It’s quiet.

“I’m not going to tell them,” Zoe says softly.

“Good.”

They sit there for a minute, avoiding each other’s eyes and wondering what comes next. If this is what it’s like to be okay, for them to be okay. If this is the waving of the white flag. 

“Okay, um. Well. I’ll let you…”

“Yeah,” Connor says. 

She nods at him, hesitating for a second before pushing herself up off Connor’s bed and leaving through the doorway. 

And weirdly, as he hears her door gently shut, he starts to miss her. 


End file.
